


Sweet Surrender

by mogwai_do



Category: Forever Knight
Genre: Angst, Episode: s03e22 Last Knight, F/M, M/M, Songfic, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 09:50:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mogwai_do/pseuds/mogwai_do
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you have to hit rock bottom before you can work out which way is up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> This was formerly known as 'When There's Nothing Left To Lose', but I didn't like the title. This is also my first real fanfic so it's definitely a bit cringeworthy, but could have been far worse, all things considered. Set at the end of Last Knight, with all that implies.

_It doesn't mean much_  
It doesn't mean anything at all  
The life I've left behind me  
Is a cold room 

 

"Damn you, Nicholas!"

The stake sped down, plunging through the back and piercing the heart of the kneeling figure, known in his present incarnation as Detective Nicholas B. Knight. He screamed in pure agony as every cell of his immortal body seemed to ignite and he collapsed next to the still form of one Natalie Lambert, former coroner.

Lucien LaCroix looked down on the tragic scene, his expression unreadable. There was a faint rush of displaced air and then the loft was left in silence.

 

_I've crossed the last line  
From where I can't return_

 

It was several minutes before Nick became aware of anything beyond the excruciating pain in his chest. Minutes more before his thoughts became anything approaching coherent. The loft was silent, cold and empty. Much like his life now that Natalie was dead, by his own hand. He wanted to die. Why wasn't he dead?

LaCroix had surprised him by actually acceding to his wish, he had not really believed he would stake the son he had pursued around the world for so many centuries. Yet he had, and Nick still lived. Why wasn't he dead? But he was dying, he could feel the strength, the life draining from him. It was just a matter of time. Typical, he couldn't even die right.

A thought struck him and he barked a harsh laugh, grimacing at the renewed agony.

He was too old and powerful. After 800 years and despite numerous attempts at regaining his mortality, he was too old and powerful. At nearly 2,000 years old LaCroix had proven too strong to die by a stake and now here he was in the same predicament. _I suppose we're even now._ He thought mirthlessly, remembering his failed attempt at patricide. Nick tried to shift his position slightly, but the movement brought a fresh wave of pain and he passed out.

Seated quietly in his townhouse, Lucien LaCroix suppressed another shudder at the pain he felt through the link with his son. Carefully, he picked up his glass, taking another sip as he gazed, unseeing, into the fire. Though he would never have admitted it to another, he was at the edge of his formidable control. He had thought that staking Nicholas had been the most difficult act of his nearly 2,000 year existence. Now he knew better.

But he had chosen this course and nothing would be accomplished by changing his mind at this point. He only hoped he had not misjudged Nicholas. He had done it once before and suffered his own staking - it had not been pleasant. If he was wrong now... If he was wrong now the consequences would be far, far worse.

He felt the first faint stirrings of Nicholas' return to consciousness and, carefully replacing the glass on the small table, returned to his vigil.

 

_Where every step I took in faith_  
Betrayed me  
And led me from my home  
Sweet surrender  
Is all that I have to give 

 

Nick woke to a world of pain, the burning agony of the stake in his flesh had spread throughout his entire body and he felt tired beyond belief. He raised his head briefly to see the pale, cold features of Natalie Lambert. Dead. Like Tracy, like Schanke, like Cohen. None of them deserved it. Not like he did. Yet despite his best efforts they were dead and he was still alive.

It wasn't fair. Was there some unwritten rule that the good die while the evil live on? Natalie had believed in God, had had faith that love would conquer all. That belief had not saved her from Nature's cruellest face. And he'd believed too. Believed in love, believed in the promise of a faith abandoned so long ago. No. He'd believed in her and that faith had betrayed him, betrayed them both. He had been a fool to believe and the taste of that betrayal was bitter.

He closed his eyes tight against the unspoken accusations of her dead face. He had tried everything she'd suggested in his quest for mortality, all had failed, and lying on the cold concrete of the loft floor was the price of his last failure.

Anger rose within him. It wasn't fair, after all this time, all his attempts, he should have regained his mortality. Instead he was dying a vampire and how many others had died because of him.

Life's like that, a small cynical part of him said. People die, it happens, whether they deserve to or not. Remember Gwynneth? Remember Alyssa? Sylvaine? Did they deserve it? How many have you seen die? How many died at your own hands? How many more through mortal wars, mortal fears and ignorance? And still you haven't learned this lesson. You take your chances and you play the hand life deals you.

Well, he'd tried, he'd played the hand he was dealt and nearly lost his life in the Crusades. When pushed, he'd taken the gamble with achieving his mortality and lost that too. The game of life and he wasn't a good player. What was it LaCroix used to say... If you don't like the rules, don't play.

He'd had faith in something better and every step he'd taken on that path had hurt him more and more. They said the road to Hell was paved with good intentions. Now he knew it to be true. And here he was, no mortal friends, no vampire family, nothing left, nothing to do except surrender to the inevitable, logical, conclusion of this game. He bowed his head, the pain of the stake was as nothing next to that realisation.

LaCroix landed lightly on the roof, masking his presence more out of habit than any real need, he peered through the skylight. The end was near now, he could barely feel Nicholas at all. He had hoped it would not take so long and he began to fear that he had been wrong after all.

In the loft below, Nick opened his eyes to look, one last time, upon Natalie's strangely peaceful face. Dead, like so many he had cared for, another losing hand. _If you don't like the rules, don't play._ The voice was soft, but insistent, echoing from the vaults of his long memory. He'd cared for Nat and she'd died. He'd cared for Tracy too, though he had not known her long. He'd cared for Schanke. He'd cared for all of them and they'd all died. It was so *unfair*. _If you don't like the rules..._

Nick snarled, fangs bared, eyes blazing red in the darkness of the loft. He hurt, physically, emotionally... He was tired of hurting. Tired of it all. It was pointless. His anger burned within him, hotter than the sun, it forced him to his hands and knees despite the blinding agony.

He'd played by the rules and all it had done was hurt, but no more. He focused on the stake protruding gruesomely from his chest. No-one would remove it for him, but the difficulty of a task had never daunted him before.

Letting his anger override the pain, he sat back on his heels and wrapped both hands around the wood, ignoring the fiery pain it sent shooting through him. He looked up from the bloody stake and once again saw Natalie. Beautiful, dead Natalie. She'd played her last hand and lost. Well he would be damned if he was going to lose again.

He wanted to live. Right now, more than promises of love, more than a fleeting mortality, more than _anything_. He wanted to live.

His fingers gripped the wood tightly and with a savage twist and push he flung the stake from his body with the last of his strength. The pain was beyond anything he'd felt yet, but he refused to pass out. With the stubborn will that had both delighted and frustrated his master over the centuries, he dragged himself the distance to the kitchen. Ripping open the refrigerator, he reached for the first bottle.

Up on the rooftop LaCroix smiled. He had been right. The desire to live that had prompted the young Crusader to turn away from the light had forced him to turn away from death a second time. And in doing so had taught Nicholas a lesson he would never, had never accepted from anyone else. He looked down into the loft, sorely tempted to go, to talk to his son, to assure himself of his eventual recovery and to help in that recovery. Intellect overrode instinct though; now was not the time, it could well undo everything achieved. He knew Nicholas kept a good stock in his loft, even if it was mostly cow. It would be enough to heal him sufficiently to allow him to go out in search of better sustenance. With one last, reassuring glance at his bloody, but triumphant son, LaCroix launched himself into the night.

 

_You take me in_  
No questions asked  
You strip away the ugliness  
That surrounds me 

 

Nick stood silently on the steps in front of the townhouse. His hands were thrust deep in the pockets of his leather jacket as he studied the ground at his feet. He felt uncomfortable, uncertain of his purpose in coming here. The door opened without him ever having knocked and, as LaCroix moved to let him pass, he stepped inside.

They made their way to the living room in silence, where LaCroix poured him a drink. The scent of the human blood made his fangs ache even though he had healed almost completely in the 36 hours since he had decided to live. He had consumed virtually everything he had before his hunger had calmed enough for him to risk leaving the loft in search of more. He'd called at the Raven before it had opened, using his key to gain access and raid the cellars. His last task before coming here had been to dispose of Natalie's body and car. He had not felt anything when he'd done it, he thought perhaps he should have, but it had been necessary.

He was still fairly weak, but he was recovering, physically. He had only been that close to death once before and it had changed him profoundly. He was under no illusions that this time would be any different. Yet he did not know what those changes were.

He had been angry at himself and at the world when he had chosen to live, but that anger had left him now. He felt empty, detached. He had lost his place in the mortal world and, truth to tell, he did not really have any desire to return to it. He had rejected the vampire community, his only family, long ago. He'd lost Janette all too recently and LaCroix... He'd asked LaCroix to stake him... and he had.

He didn't know where he stood any more. The defining factors of his life had vanished and he was left without support, floating in limbo, unable to move forward or back. Now he was here.

He took a slow sip from the glass he had been given, restraining the urge to just gulp it down. He was still weak, but he was no fledgling and controlling the hunger was second nature to him now. He lowered the glass to see LaCroix studying him carefully. Once such scrutiny would have annoyed him, now... Now it didn't.

LaCroix watched as Nicholas took another sip. His son had cleaned up considerably since last he saw him, but there was an air of disregard about his appearance, a lack of concern. He would have to be careful. The silence lengthened and LaCroix waited patiently for his son to speak.

"You knew." It was not a question.

"No, I hoped." LaCroix did not feel entirely comfortable being so honest with his son, but he knew it presented the best chance.

"Why?" Nicholas' voice held a disturbing lack of emotion to LaCroix's sensitive ears.

"Why what, Nicholas?" He kept his voice as soft and low as Nicholas'.

"Why did you do it?"

LaCroix viciously suppressed the urge to be flippant, the habit of centuries inappropriate in the face of his child's fragile state. "Because you asked me and because it was the only way. Had I denied you, you would have faced the sunrise and you are not strong enough yet for that. Had I tried to restrain you..." He did not need to continue, they both knew Nick had never reacted well to force.

The silence descended once more and LaCroix took a sip from his glass, never once taking his eyes off his son. Cautiously, he reached through the link they shared, but all he could feel was emptiness, an emotional void. There was none of the turbulent emotion he had come to expect from his son and it left him somewhat at a loss for how to behave. It occurred to him that his fiery Nicholas had given everything he was capable of giving; his faith, his hope, his love, his passion for life - all had been expended in his search for mortality and all he had gained in return had been death and despair. Nicholas simply had nothing left to give and the resultant emptiness threatened to destroy him as surely as the stake would have. For perhaps the first time in his long existence, LaCroix was at a loss for how to remedy this.

"Why?" Nick asked again and this time no clarification was needed. There was a world of meaning in his tone of voice, his eyes, his thoughts. Why. Why was life so unfair? Why had he not died? Why could he not escape his curse? Why did it hurt so much? Why was he here? Why had LaCroix never let him go? And why was LaCroix now the only one he could think of to turn to for answers? And above all, why him?

LaCroix saw all these questions, knew them, and for all his years of experience could think of only one response.

"Because," he paused, gathering his thoughts. "Because it is an insane world. Because you care enough to try to make it make sense. Because you're stronger than you think you are and because I..." He couldn't continue, the simplest of admissions yet he was unable to give it voice. Without it, his other reasons were less than nothing. He could feel a shadow of understanding flit across his son's mind, but it was not enough to break the emotional shell Nicholas' ordeal had created. To come so close and be defeated by mere words, he would not allow it. "I..." Again words failed, was it even possible to express verbally what he had felt these last 800 years.

The glass in his hand shattered, spraying crystal shards and ruby liquid. Almost absently, he opened his tightly clenched fist and let the last pieces of crystal fall to the floor. Distractedly, he began to pull the slivers of glass from his hand. In other circumstances the loss of control would have been intolerable. Here and now, it was simply a distraction from the fact that he lacked the ability, the strength, to voice a simple truth.

He looked up in surprise when gentle fingers stilled his hands. Nicholas stood directly before him, an unreadable expression on his face, an unidentifiable emotion in the link. Slowly he pulled LaCroix's injured hand to his chest, turning as he did so, so that he had wrapped himself within his father's arms. His back resting against LaCroix's chest, the injured hand cradled in both of his. Uncomprehending, LaCroix responded to his son's actions, wrapping his free arm around his waist and tightening the embrace. He pressed a light kiss into his son's golden curls and, as if that had been the key, Nicholas bowed his head and began to cry.

 

_Are you an angel?  
Am I already that gone?_

 

LaCroix held his weeping child close, murmuring soothing words as the tears became full-throated sobs and the body pressed so close to him was racked with the force of the emotional storm. LaCroix permitted himself a small sigh of relief, Nicholas was more resilient than he'd dared let himself believe. His son had been hurt, but he would survive and, right now, that was all that mattered.

Eventually, he relaxed his grasp and carefully manoeuvred them onto the black leather couch. Nicholas' only reaction was to twist, burying his face into LaCroix's shoulder, his hand securing a grip on his father's shirt front. LaCroix gazed down at his golden child, as close, in this moment, to contentment as he had been in a long time. Gently he widened the link between them, for a moment the emotional turmoil nearly overwhelmed him and he almost chuckled. His Nicholas never did anything by halves. Carefully, he began to exert a subtle influence, calming and reassuring his precious child and slowly, gradually, the sobs lessened and Nicholas began to regain mastery over his state.

When the tears finally ceased to flow, LaCroix squeezed his son close, reassuring. _Mon fils._ He thought. _Mon protégé. Mon ange tombé._ Despite the circumstances, he relished these moments of closeness with his precious son, the golden crusader who had so completely captivated his cold heart those many centuries ago. It was for moments like these, rare as they were, that he lived and he silently swore, once again, never to abandon his most beloved child.

 

_I only hope that I won't disappoint you_  
When I'm down here on my knees  
Sweet surrender  
Is all that I have to give. 

 

Nick took a deep breath and finally relaxed into his father's embrace. He felt utterly exhausted, physically and emotionally. For the time being he just didn't want to think, about where he was, about how he felt, about anything. He could feel the steady flow of comfort and reassurance from LaCroix through their wide open link. He didn't listen to the words his father murmured, he wasn't supposed to, just the sound, the feel of it was enough.

Minutes passed in a comfortable silence as he simply absorbed and accepted his surroundings, no questions asked. Eventually though, he roused himself sufficiently to take advantage of the security of LaCroix's arms to examine what he felt.

Nick shivered involuntarily as his thoughts drifted back to that fateful night and he felt LaCroix's arms tighten about him momentarily. Strangely, the memories did not affect him as he had thought they might. He had been through the fire so to speak, the resolutions made in the crucible of those few hours were unalterable. It was oddly comforting to have something so certain on which to build.

He regretted Natalie's death, but he knew now that it had been inevitable. It had forced him to acknowledge several things about himself he had always avoided. He wanted to live, perhaps more than anything else. It had been that desire which had resulted in his choice 800 years ago. A choice he had now come to accept was irreversible. In becoming a vampire he'd bought into a new set of rules, just as Janette had said. For some time now he'd been playing a vampire's game by mortal rules. Was it any wonder he'd lost. He'd lost as badly as it was possible to lose. Over the past year he'd lost colleagues, friends, loves, vampires and mortals alike, almost his own life too. Yet there remained one constant, whether he wished it or not. LaCroix.

They had fought for years, decades, centuries even, usually over Nick's quest for mortality. They had done terrible things to each other, physically and emotionally, yet he was always there when he really needed him. Like now.

Nick buried his face in LaCroix's shoulder, suddenly needing the solid reality of his presence. He felt LaCroix stiffen slightly at his unexpected movement, but it passed so quickly as to be barely noticeable. For an absurd moment Nick wondered if, being immortal, they could stay like this forever, but he knew they could not. Still, he was reluctant to face what he knew must come next. Now he knew where he stood with himself, he was stricken with doubt. After what he had asked LaCroix to do, did he have any right to ask anything at all of his sire?

The crystal clarity of his thoughts surprised him, after eight centuries he now knew who he was, he just had to work out the rest. For one last, long, moment he savoured the comfort and security of his father's arms and then he stood.

LaCroix felt an unexpectedly bitter pang as Nick pulled away from him, eyes downcast. He was no longer privy to his son's thoughts, but he could sense his discomfort and reluctance. Nicholas was steeling himself for something unpleasant.

Nick said nothing as he moved restlessly to the fireplace. The hearth was cold, he placed his hands on the high mantel and gazed into the ashes. The ashes of another life, dead and gone.

Nick turned to face his master, eyes darkened by the sorrow and strain of the last 36 hours. For a moment his restless gaze met ice blue eyes before flickering away, looking everywhere but at the seated ancient. It had been a long time since the younger vampire had been daunted by those arctic eyes. He was afraid, not of his anger as might once have been the case, but of the indifference he had so recently desired. Summoning every ounce of courage he could, he broke the silence.

"LaCroix..." His voice sounded loud to his ears, but it was instantly swallowed by the stillness of the room. He couldn't continue. It was not that his courage failed, but for all the languages he spoke, he just couldn't find the words.

LaCroix watched as, unconsciously, Nick began to play with his fingers, a nervous habit he had not lost after 800 years. He waited patiently for his son to continue. Still Nicholas refused to meet his eyes, to even look at him, his discomfort was obvious. Cautiously, LaCroix tried to reach through their link, but Nicholas' formidable mental barriers had re-formed and to try to bypass them would likely have disastrous consequences.

"Nicholas?" He kept his voice level, allowing only the slightest trace of impatience to colour it. Something inside him hardened when Nicholas turned away to once more gaze into the ashes of last night's fire. Abruptly, Nicholas spun and in three quick strides came to stand before LaCroix, who watched in amazement as his son sank to his knees before him.

Nick's sudden resolve had taken even him by surprise, like the shattering of the wineglass, it had been the catalyst of LaCroix's actions that had triggered his own. With barely a hesitation he met LaCroix's eyes.

"LaCroix... Father, I'm sorry." Nick's voice was not much more than a whisper, it had no need to be. "Please. Forgive me?"

LaCroix blinked, for a moment disbelieving his own ears. Nicholas could not have said that, could not be asking that. He sat perfectly still, unable to tear his gaze away from those sincere blue eyes, unwilling to break the spell of what must surely be some temporary delusion. Doubt began to shadow that open, entreating, expression and LaCroix mentally shook himself.

"Of course, mon fils." His voice sounded far more shaken than he would have liked, but at that particular instant he really didn't care. A small, relieved smile quirked his son's lips as Nick fought to hold back fresh tears and LaCroix almost felt he could believe in gods.

 

_And I don't understand_  
How the touch of your hand...  
I would be the one to fall  
I miss the little things  
I miss everything about you 

 

Without conscious volition, LaCroix leaned forward and with infinite care captured his son's mouth with his own. After the briefest hesitation the delicate oral caress became mutual as Nick parted his lips, inviting him in. The kiss was almost painfully erotic for the older vampire as the touch, scent and taste of his son, so long denied, filled his senses. Slowly, he slid a hand to his son's collar. Fingers made clumsy by desire, fumbled with the buttons, succeeding only in snapping them off.

In turn, Nick ran his fingers up the silk-clad arms, it had been a long time since there had been such contact between them and he found he had missed it greatly. Slowly, the master vampire slid from his seat, joining his son as he knelt in front of the couch. Nick's hands had worked their way beneath his shirt now and expertly caressed the sensitive skin, eliciting soft moans of pleasure from his sire. As the last of Nicholas' shirt buttons fell from his fingers, LaCroix began to work his way down, teasing gently. Nicholas' nearness filled his mind as he followed the paths of memory.

The night a young, blonde crusader had so captivated what remained of his soul with his beauty and fire. That first taste of the mortal Nicholas de Brabant's blood, so intoxicating he had barely stopped himself from draining him completely. Even Nicholas remained unaware of how close to death he had come. Those first lessons of the fledgling Nicholas, where he had delighted to discover that being brought across had only enhanced his new-born child. That night, several years later, when his eager child had discarded the last of his mortal morality to become so much more than simply the favoured child of Lucien LaCroix. The centuries of conflict, bitter recriminations and pain were buried and forgotten.

LaCroix returned to the present and Nicholas' eager mouth. Somewhere along the way he had lost his shirt, while Nick's hung from his waist. Fingers tangled in blonde curls, gently tugging his head back and exposing his highly sensitive throat to the considerable talents of his master. Lost in a wave of sheer sensation, Nick barely noticed when LaCroix's fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his slacks and fangs scraped at the base of his throat.

"No!" Nick came to himself abruptly, uncomfortably aware of his own arousal and the lust evident in his master's gleaming red eyes. Nick swallowed his own incipient lust. "LaCroix," he paused, not sure how to put it or how his sire would take it. "I... can't, not now, not yet. It's too soon."

He searched LaCroix's face for his reaction, hoping he would understand. After a moment LaCroix closed his eyes and when they opened again they were their usual icy blue, not betraying any of his disappointment. He had never, would never force Nicholas. It wasn't what he wanted.

"Of course, Nicholas."

Relieved, Nick stood, LaCroix following him up. He shrugged back into his shirt, fumbling to close it before realising it had been thoroughly denuded of buttons. He tried with no success to get it to stay closed. A faint snort caused him to look up and see a wry smile on his sire's lips, as he held out his own shirt. Gratefully, though just a little surprised, Nick took the black silk. It was a little large, he noted as he shrugged into it, but not excessively so.

LaCroix remained standing, impassively watching his son dress. Finished, Nick met his cool gaze. "I suppose I should be going." No response was forthcoming so he made his own way to the door. It was only once he stepped outside that LaCroix spoke; it was perhaps an hour till dawn.

"You are welcome to stay for the day, Nicholas."

Nick did not turn around but looked up at the slowly lightening sky. "No. I need time... To think." He took off without looking back, unwilling to see his father's reaction.

LaCroix stood bare-chested on the doorstep for several minutes, lost in thought. He had no fear for his son's safety, any suicidal impulses had passed with the tears. Instead he was wrestling with an unfamiliar state. Hope.

As he had told Nicholas, he had done the only thing he could that night and it had pained him greatly. Since then he had been struggling to retain control over his emotions. He had feared for Nicholas' life and then his sanity. When he had held his child in his arms he had felt enormous relief and the first faint stirrings of hope. When Nicholas had risen, that hope had withered and died only to burst, phoenix-like, from the ashes into the flames of lust. Bitter disappointment had followed and now...

He snorted in amusement as he realised he still stood, half-naked on his doorstep, staring after his absent son like some love-sick puppy. Nicholas had that effect on a great many people, but only Janette had ever had an inkling of LaCroix's susceptibility to it. Yes, Janette understood very well the effect Nicholas could have, perhaps he would call his half-daughter, he mused, as he re-entered the townhouse.

High above Toronto, a solitary vampire cruised the night air, eventually coming to rest atop one of the city tower blocks. Nick perched precariously on the very edge like some living gargoyle and watched without seeing, the city's nightlife wind down with the approaching dawn. He needed to think, he had considered heading back to the loft but had decided he couldn't really face that yet, so instead he was here.

He was tired, physically and emotionally. There was barely a trace of his injury, but all of his energy had been expended in that rapid healing, slow as it had seemed to him. And he'd gone to LaCroix. He still wasn't entirely sure why he had, but it had helped. A lot. So apparently, on some level at least, he knew what he was doing. He smiled at himself, 'some level' was probably about as close as he'd ever get to understanding his own motivations.

He'd expected LaCroix to lecture him on the futility of his quest, the sheer stupidity of his deathwish, or even not to have been there at all. Instead he'd been patient and, if not sympathetic, then at least had not thrown his failure in his face.

It hadn't been enough though, he'd needed more than that, some reassurance of welcome, of love, but LaCroix had not been able to give it and he'd sunk to an even deeper level of despair. Then the glass had shattered, and he'd seen it. LaCroix had lost control, just for an instant. He'd tried and the attempt had cost him his prized control. He had still been unable to give voice to it, but in that moment the attempt had meant everything to Nick.

Nick stood up and began to roam the rooftop, absently scuffing at the gravel under foot. He hadn't intended to get as... carried away with LaCroix as he had. He had been, and still was, on an emotional high, the slightest things provoking disproportionately strong reactions, and LaCroix's actions had taken him by surprise. He paused in his aimless wandering and looked up at the cloudy sky. Actually, he realised, his father's actions shouldn't have surprised him as they had. It wasn't something he had liked to think about in recent years, but it was there nevertheless. His treacherously perfect memory recalled with perfect clarity, days and nights spent in each others' company, travelling, hunting, playing chess... other things.

His master still wanted him, after more than a century where they'd barely spoken to each other without it ending in violence. Though curiously the more intimate areas of their relationship had never been a source of ammunition in their private war.

Nick stopped in his tracks. LaCroix had always wanted him, would always want him. The thought was both frightening and yet strangely comforting. It was far less of a surprise when he realised that part of him needed to be wanted like that.

His quest for mortality had seen him alienated from both mortals and vampires. Between them, Natalie and Janette had managed to stave off the loneliness, but Janette had left and Natalie...

Nick sighed, Natalie had been his closest mortal friend in a long time. Her courage in the face of the unknown had impressed him, giving him the hope he'd needed. He should have left her once he had realised they had left the safety of the doctor/patient relationship. He had allowed himself to believe she was as resistant to the vampire's natural seductiveness as she had been to his hypnosis. By the time he'd realised otherwise he had not wanted to tell her for fear of her reaction. So he'd held on, hoping that they'd find a cure before their relationship reached that inevitable conclusion. They hadn't.

Natalie had loved him because of one of the many aspects of his vampirism, like so many before her, Alyssa, Alexandra, Amalia, others. Very few had ever known him well enough to love him for who he was, and at the top of that too short list, LaCroix. Loath as he was to admit it, his sire knew him better than any other living creature ever had, probably, candour compelled him to add, even better than he knew himself. As he was so fond of pointing out to his wayward child, LaCroix had given him everything, life, the opportunity to experience things far beyond anything mortals could dream of. Everything, even, and he smiled ruefully, the shirt off his back.

To the east the sky was noticeably lighter and Nick came out of his thoughts to realise he had only another 10 minutes before sunrise. Feeling considerably better for having thought things through, he took to the air. He still felt rather wound up, but he now knew that would ease with time.

Nick was feeling a bit apprehensive when he finally touched down on his father's doorstep, LaCroix did not take rejection well. He entered without knocking as the first rays of light lanced down. Heavy velvet curtains had been drawn against the advancing sun and inside the air was cool and dim. He made his way to the living room, but there was no sign of LaCroix, casting his senses out he registered the sound of a running shower. Content that his father was still here, he slung his jacket over the back of a chair and took a seat on the couch to wait. He was exhausted.

Lucien LaCroix entered the room a bare minute later and was greeted with the sight of Nicholas stretched out on the couch, one arm hanging loosely over the edge. Silently, LaCroix neared the sleeping form, drinking in his son's perfection. Carefully, he reached out and brushed the golden curls away from the sleeping face. He froze as Nicholas stirred in his sleep, a faint smile appeared on his lips but he did not wake.

 

_It doesn't mean much_  
It doesn't mean anything at all  
The life I've left behind me  
Is a cold room 

 

Nick woke slowly, gradually becoming aware of his surroundings, he was warm and comfortable. He stretched languidly and opened his eyes. It took him a minute to recall where he was and why it wasn't the loft. He got up and looked down at himself, he was wearing his customary black silk pyjamas, but he didn't remember putting them on, for that matter he didn't remember going to bed either.

LaCroix was just pulling a mug from the microwave when a tousled Nicholas appeared in the doorway. "Good evening, Nicholas." He kept his voice light as he offered his son the mug. It was large, black and filled almost to the brim, it steamed faintly in the cool evening air.

Nick accepted the proffered mug and took a long swallow. The blood was human, fresh and undiluted by wine. A graduate student, donating blood in the belief that it would help to save lives. Nick was willing to bet she hadn't considered it might do so in this manner. He perched himself on one of the stools and took another sip of his breakfast. The silence continued as LaCroix watched his son drink.

After several long minutes Nick grew uncomfortable and finally raised his eyes to meet LaCroix's gaze. He felt he ought to speak, but he didn't know what to say and LaCroix appeared, as usual, to have no intention of helping him out. Nick shifted to look beyond LaCroix, outside the open kitchen window it was a clear, cool night and he had things to do.

He downed the last mouthful, put the mug back on the counter and stood. He paused on his way out and looked back over his shoulder, one hand resting on the door frame. He met LaCroix's eyes again, briefly. "Thank you." His voice was soft and for the briefest moment it seemed that the ice in those pale eyes melted, just a little... But it could have been a trick of the light.

Nick took a long, hot shower before returning to his room to dress. He could see no sign of the clothes he had worn the night before and for an absurd moment he wondered if LaCroix might be trying to keep him there by hiding them. He snorted at the thought, somehow he just didn't think it was LaCroix's style.

It finally occurred to him to check the large wardrobe by the door. Inside hung several changes of clothes that he knew could not be his father's. For one thing, they weren't entirely black. He pulled out a deep blue silk shirt and peered at the label, it was his size. A sudden suspicion loomed and he quickly checked through the various other items. All of them were in his size. He didn't want to think about how LaCroix had managed that one.

He left the bedroom fully dressed and as neat as he had ever been. The door opposite was ajar, LaCroix's bedroom. He glanced towards the stairs, LaCroix was still in the kitchen. Self-preservation battled with curiosity and lost. Gently, Nick pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Not surprisingly the predominant colour of the room was black, but there was some variation, decorating the walls were rugs in a dozen styles and colours, eclectic, but somehow tasteful. He moved further into the room, wondering at his curiosity after more than a century when this would have been the last place he would have entered voluntarily. He trailed his sensitive fingers over the black satin sheets of the large bed, noting with some amusement the absence of any nightwear. He moved to the head of the bed as a glinting object caught his eye. Lying on the bedside table was a gold pocket watch. Carefully, Nick picked it up, turning it over and over in his hands. He flicked open the cover and traced the inscription with his fingertips. It had been his, a gift from probably the last time he and LaCroix had managed to be polite to each other. He'd given it back a couple of years ago to make a point... And for the life of him he couldn't remember what that point had been.

Carefully, he laid the watch back down and turned to look at the room. For the first time he noticed that it felt strangely empty. LaCroix did not acquire things as Nick did, but there should have been something, instead the surfaces of the room were bare. He eyes fell to a large trunk in the corner and he moved to it. Opening it revealed why the room had appeared so bare, LaCroix was packing. Nick was struck by a sudden surge of panic.

"Nicholas?" The voice was largely irritated, but there was an undercurrent that indicated worry.

Nick spun to face his master. "You're leaving?"

"As I believe I told you, Nicholas."

"When?" Nick tried unsuccessfully to suppress the panic welling inside him.

"Soon."

"How soon, damn it, LaCroix?" He hadn't meant to raise his voice.

LaCroix arched an eyebrow. "Two days. The night after tomorrow." LaCroix studied Nicholas, that he was upset was obvious, exactly why was not so clear. He suspected it was simply the fear of another abandonment, but he found he could not dismiss the faint hope that it might be because of something more. He watched as Nicholas struggled to get himself under control.

"Two days." Nick muttered, for some reason he just couldn't get his head around the concept. He needed some space. Avoiding LaCroix's curious eyes he fled the room.

In the kitchen he yanked the cork from a bottle and took a long swallow. He wasn't hungry really, well no more than usual, but right now he felt the need for it. He knew why he had panicked, but right now it wasn't something he felt he could deal with. He replaced the half-empty bottle, he would stick to his plan of the previous night. When that was out of the way...

LaCroix watched Nicholas leave. He was still having trouble deciphering his son's mixed up feelings. Normally he would provoke Nicholas into some sort of focus. This time instinct told him that to do so would be a mistake.

Patience was something of a new tactic for him where Nicholas was concerned. The only person ever to be able to threaten his self-control, and he did it entirely unintentionally. When he had staked Nicholas he had resolved that this time he would leave his son to work things out himself, only stepping in if things got out of hand. So far he was not completely sure it was working, but Nicholas had not pushed him away yet.

He thought back to the previous night, it had strengthened the faint hope that all was not lost between them. If exercising his patience meant that Nicholas might come back to him voluntarily, even if they never returned to their relationship of old, then he could wait forever if necessary.

Nick opened the loft door reluctantly. The room was exactly as he had left it; cold, empty and dark. He stepped inside and let the door slide shut behind him. He could still smell spilt blood, his, Natalie's, cow and human from the bottles, even if there was no visible evidence of it. The legacy of 800 years of vampirism, even in a state of shock he had disposed of all the evidence cleanly. He stood in the centre of the loft and slowly turned full circle, looking at his home of the past few years. It could have been another life altogether. He had taken the life of Nick Knight its full course, from its birth on Natalie Lambert's autopsy table to its death by stake. Never before had he gone the distance with one of his mortal lives, always he had moved on before he could hurt or be hurt. There was a strange sense of closure, Nick Knight had lived and died, now all that was left was for the newly revealed Nicholas de Brabant to perform the last rites, as it were.

He clicked on the answering machine. One telemarketing message, one call from Captain Reese informing him that IA had cleared him of responsibility in Tracy's death, and one from Grace Balthazar wondering if he knew Natalie's whereabouts since she hadn't turned up for work and wasn't at home.

He listened carefully, his vampire's mind automatically working on a credible explanation. Nicholas de Brabant would take care of the last details for Nick Knight, he owed him after all, Nick Knight had taught him some valuable lessons that he would not soon forget. Nick left the loft and headed for the precinct.

Nick's arrival at the precinct was greeted with a number of sympathetic looks and for a moment he couldn't understand why, then Reese took him aside. Nick listened quietly as his captain told him of the disappearance of Natalie Lambert. Her car had been found down by the lakefront yesterday by a patrol. Further searching had turned up her purse and a scarf that one of her friends at the morgue had identified. After the events of the last year and the more recent losses she had suffered, it was believed that she may have committed suicide. They were dragging that area of the lake for a body.

Nick looked out the window, they wouldn't find a body in the lake, or at least not Natalie Lambert's. Her last resting place was a sunny hillside just outside of Toronto, where she was buried with Joan's cross. It had seemed appropriate at the time. He became aware that Reese was looking at him strangely.

"What?"

"I asked you if you knew of anything to add to the report." Reese sounded concerned.

"No. Not really. She called on me the night before last and she was pretty upset, but that was it."

Reese nodded sympathetically, mistaking Nick's distraction and lack of tone for shock. "Why couldn't we reach you yesterday?" He asked curiously.

"I was ill and spent most of the time asleep."

Reese raised an eyebrow.

"Food poisoning, I guess." He added, and Reese again nodded in understanding. _He's taking it hard._ Reese thought as he dismissed his star detective. Knight was one of those people who rarely let anything show, but you could see it in his eyes. He wasn't himself.

Nick seated himself at his desk, again ignoring all the pitying looks cast his way. He began to clear out his desk as he waited for his computer to boot up, almost everything went in the bin. He'd cleared Tracy's out not that long ago, and Schanke's before that. He started typing up his letter of resignation.

Reese wasn't surprised when Nick handed in his badge and gun. _Losing his second partner in a year was bad enough, losing his girlfriend too... A person can only take so much._ Reese thought as he watched Nick Knight leave the precinct for the last time.

Next stop was Nat's apartment where he removed the bottles she had kept for him in case of emergencies. He was about to leave when he saw a picture of Natalie at a family outing in the sun. He stared at the photograph for a long minute, half-tempted to take it. He traced the outline of her face, committing it to his perfect memory. He would always remember her, physical reminders were unnecessary for a vampire. "Sorry, Nat." He murmured and left in a rush of displaced air.

He arrived at the morgue minutes later and made his way unseen to Natalie Lambert's office. The room was empty and he began his search for her journal. He had found it and was just about to leave when Grace walked in. Her surprise was evident and no less than his.

"Ah, I was just picking up an old report." He explained, hoping that news regarding his resignation had yet to filter down this far.

Grace looked speechless. "Natalie's missing, maybe dead and you're looking for old reports!?!" Her voice rose angrily. "You... You inhuman bastard!"

Her blow caught him off guard, jerking his head back with its force. Eyes blazing red, he spun to face her, fangs fully extended, on the verge of ripping her throat out. The shock on her face penetrated the sudden rage and he automatically instigated damage control. He snared her will easily. "I was never here." He informed her, his voice a low growl. He paused only long enough to ensure that the command had taken hold, then he fled the building before his control could further disintegrate.

LaCroix raised his head from his console in the back of the Raven as he felt his son enter the club. His caller went unheeded as he watched Nicholas acquire two bottles from Miklos and disappear into the back rooms. He'd felt his son's rage earlier, but he had got it under control almost immediately. Still, it was something that would bear investigation, later. He returned his attention to the caller.

A half-hour later LaCroix opened the door to the back rooms to see Nicholas nursing a glass of blood. One empty bottle lay on the table, the remaining bottle was still half-full.

"I almost tore her throat out, LaCroix." Nick stated quietly, staring into the crimson depths of his glass.

LaCroix moved closer to his son but did not speak.

Nick looked up at him. "I just... snapped." His eyes sought reassurance and LaCroix held his gaze.

"You've been through a lot, Nicholas. With rest I don't doubt it will not happen again... Unless you want it to, of course." He smiled as he watched Nicholas' blue eyes flash angrily. Provocation usually managed to pull him out of self-doubt.

Nick stood and faced LaCroix, momentarily confused by the smile, until he realised that he had reacted exactly as LaCroix had intended. This time, though, he found his father's manipulation amusing, moreover, he could accept the justification for it.

LaCroix was temporarily caught off balance as Nicholas flashed him one of his sudden smiles. Some small corner of LaCroix's brain wondered whether or not his son had any idea of the devastating effect those brilliant smiles had on the ancient. He was, however, pleasantly surprised that Nicholas had regained his good humour so easily. It reminded him of more agreeable times. As Nick turned to pick up the bottle, LaCroix, curious to see how far his son could be persuaded, reached out. Ever so lightly, he brushed his fingertips down his son's highly sensitive neck, exposed briefly by the movement.

Nick froze, his hand on the bottle neck, and LaCroix carefully repeated the feather-light touch, studying his son closely. Nick closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath, as he turned back to face his father.

LaCroix permitted himself a small smile as Nicholas opened golden eyes and met his gaze. He let his fingers glide over the skin and he gently caressed his son's throat. Nick tilted his head back, allowing better access as a low purr rumbled from deep within him. LaCroix's smile deepened as Nick's lips parted slightly revealing the tips of his lengthening canines. He leaned in closer, breathing in the barely perceptible scent of his son. Mutual arousal filtering through the steadily broadening link.

The door slammed open and LaCroix whipped around to face the intruder as Nick hastily averted his face.

"Sorry." The drunken youth cheerfully exclaimed as he stumbled in. He cast a lewd smirk at the two vampires and then disappeared back into the club.

LaCroix restrained his immediate impulse to follow the youth back into the main club area and tear him apart. Instead, he turned to Nicholas who was taking a long drink directly from the bottle. "Nicholas?"

Putting the bottle down Nick turned to face his master, knowing full well that LaCroix could read his answer in both his expression and their link. LaCroix's expression hardened perceptibly and Nick winced inwardly as he realised the unfortunate youth probably wouldn't survive the night. The Raven was off-limits for hunting, but such restrictions had never bothered LaCroix.

Nick sank back into his seat as LaCroix left the room. It had felt so good. And he had wanted it too. Badly. Yet at the same time he knew it would have been a mistake. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he was inclined to go with his instincts, he didn't feel ready yet. He gathered up the evidence of his binge and headed back into the club. LaCroix was nowhere to be seen.

LaCroix followed the drunken youth and his equally drunken friends for some time after they left the Raven. Several other clubs had been visited and now they appeared to be heading home. The ancient vampire smiled unpleasantly as his prey finally left his friends and headed around the back of one of the houses. A quick check confirmed that the darkened building was empty as he landed silently behind the boy. Keys dropped from nerveless fingers as LaCroix struck, fangs slicing easily through soft flesh. As the first rush of ecstasy hit, he let himself believe this child was Nicholas. But the hot blood was nothing next to the remembered taste of the fiery elixir that was his son. Frustrated and angry he growled and changed his grip, tearing viciously, enlarging the wound. When he finally released his victim there was no need for a disguising knife cut, there wasn't much of a throat left. Annoyed and unsatisfied, he hoisted the body up and flew with it out over the lake before releasing it. One more missing person.

LaCroix was still seething when he returned home shortly before dawn. So caught up was he that he didn't register his son's presence until he virtually walked into him. It didn't do wonders for his mood.

"What do you want, Nicholas?" He demanded ungraciously as he stalked past. "I would have thought you'd be off playing mortal detective."

If Nick was bothered by LaCroix's obviously foul mood he gave no sign. "I resigned." He said quietly. LaCroix turned to look at him. "I was wondering if you'd like some company when you leave?"

LaCroix blinked, wondering for a moment if this wasn't some bizarre practical joke or a trick question. He studied his son. Nicholas seemed serious, his eyes were steady as he submitted to LaCroix's scrutiny, but he was fidgeting with his fingers, probably not even aware he was doing it. LaCroix could sense a vague unease in his protégé. His foul mood evaporated.

"Good company is always welcome, Nicholas." He told him quietly.

Nick tilted his head, considering. "Am I good company, LaCroix?" He asked uncertainly.

LaCroix held his gaze easily. "Always, mon fils." He replied softly.

A grin appeared on Nick's face, a mixture of relief and... something else. "Guess you won't mind me staying the day then." He gestured at the light level outside.

"Not at all, Nicholas." The ancient watched the younger vampire leave the room and minutes later heard the shower running.

Half an hour later, LaCroix climbed the stairs and checked on his sleeping son. Nick lay on his back, both hands folded on his chest. His face was relaxed, youthful and strangely innocent. An innocence he had somehow retained through 800 years of bloodshed, of seeing the best and the worst humanity had to offer. LaCroix studied his golden child, for all he wanted more, he could be satisfied just having his son close. He would not risk this precious accord on such a faint hope.

 

_Sweet surrender  
Is all that I have to give_

 

Nick woke early, the sun was still out but he felt restless. He had made his decision to leave with LaCroix and now he was anxious to be off. Unfortunately, they were committed to another 24 hours in Toronto, LaCroix had several things to take care of. Truth to tell, so did Nick, but his arrangements would be the work of no more than an hour.

After several attempts to get back to sleep he got up. LaCroix still slept so Nick decided against watching television. It was not wise to wake a sleeping vampire, especially when that vampire was Lucien LaCroix.

The house was absolutely silent, seemingly cut off from the outside world of daylight and he was suddenly struck by an unreasoning fear that he was all alone in the world. Objectively, he knew it was a ridiculous notion and simply the remnants of the stress of the last few days, but knowing that didn't make it go away. Slowly, deliberately, he went to his father's room, determined to eradicate this last vestige of his ordeal.

Silently, he opened the door and stepped inside. LaCroix lay unmoving in the precise centre of his bed. At the sight, Nick's lingering insecurity melted away and he relaxed, certain now that he had fully recovered. Cautiously, he reached out through their link to touch his father's mind. LaCroix's impenetrable mental shields kept him out, but he hadn't really expected anything else. It was curiosity more than anything else that had made him try.

He moved closer to the sleeping figure. LaCroix seemed to radiate power, even in sleep he never let any weakness show. Unbidden, long buried memories surfaced, and for the first time in a long time, he didn't turn away from them.

He had seen LaCroix's vulnerability, it had been revealed to him, only briefly and only ever in the blood they shared. Nick tilted his head as he studied his father's face, as though trying to see it in a different light. He felt somehow honoured or privileged to have been allowed to see beneath his master's mask of invulnerability, even if it had only ever occurred when they had made love... When they had made love. Nick explored the memories that had surfaced, reacquainting himself with the concept. Surprising himself with the surge of warmth they sparked. He had been happy then, with himself and with his relationship with his family, though he hadn't seen it in quite the same light as he did now. He needed to think about this more carefully.

As the bedroom door swung shut LaCroix slowly opened his eyes.

Breakfast was consumed in silence. LaCroix was curious as to his son's diurnal wanderings, but Nicholas was not volunteering any information, would not even meet his eyes in fact. He knew Nicholas had fallen asleep not long after his visit to LaCroix's room, but his thoughts remained a mystery.

To his mild surprise Nick broke the silence. "What are you planning to do tonight?"

LaCroix shrugged. "Sign over ownership of the bar to Miklos and make my final broadcast at CERK. And you, Nicholas? What are you going to do?"

Nick looked away. "Pick up a few things from the loft, arrange for the rest of the stuff to go into storage. That's it really."

The conversation, such as it was, died.

LaCroix watched his son depart for his former abode and surprised himself by wishing Janette were there. Nicholas had always found it easier to talk to his sister than to his master.

Nick entered the loft via the skylight, the memories it evoked no longer bothered him, that life belonged in the past. He ignored the blinking light on the answering machine and called Aristotle. The vampire relocation expert seemed pleased to hear that Nick was moving on and more than a little surprised that he was leaving with LaCroix. Despite some of Nick's odd ideas he was well-liked, his master less so, though no-one would ever say so to his face. He was also mildly surprised to discover that Nick wanted the loft sold and everything put into storage indefinitely, except maybe the piano, but he was nevertheless happy to help.

Another phone call, this time to Feliks Twist, to check on the current disposal of the Brabant Foundation. Myra and Jenny Schanke's futures assured, he moved upstairs to collect the clothes that would last him until he had the opportunity to buy some new ones.

He returned to LaCroix's townhouse no more than an hour later having severed the last of his ties to the world of Nick Knight.

LaCroix appeared to have finished his packing while he had been out, most of the furnishings were untouched, but the few remaining personal items had disappeared. Nick roamed the empty house at will, but quickly became bored. He dropped onto the couch in the living room, he couldn't even go to the Raven since it was closed for the transfer of ownership. An open box caught his eye, LaCroix's video collection. He scanned the titles looking for something to pass the time, eventually settling on The Usual Suspects, he'd heard it was good but had never got around to watching it.

One hour and 41 minutes later he could see why LaCroix liked it, it was dark, ruthless and good didn't triumph. Nick had to admit he'd rather enjoyed it too. He replaced the video in the box and sank back onto the couch. Typically, now he had the chance to rest, he was no longer suffering from the fatigue that had plagued him for the last week. He began to browse through his sire's CD collection. Picking at random, Nick put several into the expensive sound system and hit play. He rested his head on the back of the couch, eyes closed, and let the music wash over him.

Nick jerked awake as the phone rang. He groaned and let LaCroix's answering machine pick up. The beep duly sounded then, "Merde!"

Nick spun to face the phone, recognising the soft French tones immediately. He grabbed for the receiver with vampiric speed before she could hang up. "Janette?" Silence.

"Nicolas? What are you doing answering LaCroix's phone?"

He was momentarily nonplussed. "Janette, why are you calling LaCroix?"

"Ah, ah, aah, Nicolas. I asked first."

Nick was confused. Janette was treating him as though the whole unfortunate incident a couple of months ago had never happened, which he had to admit was more or less what he wished too. Well, if she was willing to forgive and forget, he certainly wasn't going to bring it up. "I'm staying at LaCroix's house." Silence.

"Pourquoi, mon cher?"

Now it was Nick's turn to be silent, he really didn't know the answer to that.

"Natalie?" Janette asked, although it sounded like she already knew the answer.

"Dead."

"Ah, and what about you? How are you Nicolas?" Janette asked carefully. Thousands of miles away she had felt the stake enter her father/brother. She had been half-tempted to fly to Toronto that night, but had realised that LaCroix would never let anything happen to his favourite child. She had never been jealous of his obvious preference because she loved Nick too, and Nick... Sometimes it seemed Nick had love enough for both of them.

"I'm okay, I guess. LaCroix's been... helpful."

That reassured her considerably, she had feared that it had been their conflict that had resulted in the injury.

"So you are staying with him, hmm? No fighting? No damaged furniture? I'm surprised."

Nick smiled, Janette had always had a way of making him do that. It was one of the many reasons he had always loved her. "Not this time. It's his house. Can you imagine what he'd say?"

Janette's silvery laugh echoed across the distance separating them and Nick grinned. Then her voice turned serious. "You are alright with him then? You have not...?" She left it hanging.

"No." He replied _But a couple of near misses._ He added privately.

"You know he will try, Nicolas." Janette warned, knowing full well their history together.

Nick sighed, "He has. But so far he's taken no for an answer."

Janette noted the sigh and his tone of voice and wished again that the distance did not hamper their link so. "He can be most persuasive Nicolas, you know that. Are you sure you can handle it?"

Nick stared unseeing out of the window. Could he handle it? Could he continue to fend LaCroix off? More importantly, did he want to? Janette waited patiently. "I think... I think so. I think I can." He didn't sound too sure of himself.

"Nicolas," she said firmly. "Do you want to get back on those terms with LaCroix?"

"I..."

"Do _you_ want to, Nicolas?"

Nick took a deep breath, she knew him so well. For some reason Janette had always been able to cut through the confusion he usually felt when he tried to analyse his own feelings, and she was so much easier to talk to than their father. He remembered the near misses, he'd stopped then because his instinct had told him he shouldn't get involved while he was still so mixed up inside. Today he felt he'd finally got his feet back on solid ground and he could start building again, but what he wanted to build... "I'm not sure."

He could sense Janette's answering smile, despite the distance.

"Well, sooner or later you will have to decide, mon cher. Just be certain of your decision, Nicolas."

He smiled at her admonishment, still he couldn't blame her for worrying given his past behaviour. "I will Janette, I promise."

"Good."

"I miss you, Janette." His voice was soft and her breath caught in her throat. She really wished he wouldn't do that to her.

"Well, au revoir, Nicolas. Come and visit me sometime."

"Of course. Au revoir Janette."

He hung up and gazed out of the window, talking to Janette always helped. He moved back to the couch and lay down. The music was still playing and he stared at the ceiling. Old memories surfaced, the same ones that had lulled him back to sleep earlier in the day, he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. He closed his eyes and let his memories take him where they would. This time he would be certain.

"Nicholas?"

Nick was startled out of his reverie, eyes flashing gold for an instant. LaCroix stood in front of him, a glass in each hand. Nick's time sense told him no more than a half-hour had passed, LaCroix shouldn't be back yet. He said as much.

LaCroix smiled and handed him one of the glasses before seating himself on the edge of the coffee table. "I merely wondered if you had concluded your business, since I still have several minutes before I must be at CERK."

Nick nodded in confirmation of tasks completed and took a sip from the glass. It was *very* good. He shut his eyes, savouring the taste, shuddering at the momentary thrill. He didn't want to know how LaCroix had acquired this.

He became conscious of being watched. He opened his eyes and met LaCroix's intense stare, ice blue threaded through with gold. Nick was unable to tear his eyes away, he stopped breathing and tried not to notice that the link they shared was rapidly widening, bringing with it a whole new range of sensations.

LaCroix drank in the sight of his son, absorbing the feelings of pleasure that flowed through their link. Nicholas shifted uncomfortably and LaCroix abruptly came to himself, clamping down on his desires and viciously suppressing their link. He broke eye contact with his son, suddenly furious with himself for allowing his desire to override his self-control and jeopardise his newly revived relationship with Nicholas. Without a word he left the room and the house, heading for CERK.

Nick only began to breathe again once LaCroix had gone. He felt weak. With exaggerated care he placed the empty glass on the coffee table and buried his face in his hands. He knew LaCroix had always enjoyed watching him feed, Janette had told him once. Seeing for himself the sheer intensity in those winter eyes, was something else entirely. Possession and lust, yet under it all, the root cause was love. The knowledge had been in his blood since that fateful night in 1228, he just hadn't really seen it till now. It was terrifying in its depth, yet at the same time comforting and... arousing. He raised his head, golden eyes glinting in the dim light of the room and he ran his tongue over his extended fangs.

LaCroix had been careful and considerate while Nick's state had been fragile. Always backing off when Nick was unable or unwilling to take that step in their reunion. He could now acknowledge that during their years of conflict he had always doubted his father's love, calling it obsession, possession. It had made it easier to deny his own. Now that doubt had vanished. LaCroix had done everything he'd asked of him and more, all the time taking enormous care even though a vampire's love was rarely gentle. His mind flashed back to the night after the staking, to last night in the Raven, to mere minutes ago. Nick moaned softly in dismay, partly for opportunities lost and partly because, now that he was ready, LaCroix was nowhere around.

With iron control he vanquished his vampiric aspect and stood. His body thrummed with acknowledged desire and the energy granted by the certainty of his decision. He started to pace restlessly, wondering how long it would be before LaCroix would return. Frustrated he turned on the radio just as the Nightcrawler began to broadcast. The sound of his master's voice filled the room. Its soft, measured tones were so very familiar and had lately been so comforting, but right now they were also a dreadful tease to his heightened senses. There had to be something he could do to alleviate it.

LaCroix viciously cut off another caller. The station crew had fled before him when he had arrived, it had brightened his mood a little, but not nearly enough. Tonight he had no tolerance for the fans that called in protesting the end of the Nightwatch. He had checked in on Nicholas on a whim and its near disastrous consequences meant it would be a long time before he would indulge another such. None of his vast irritation came through in his velvet tones however, as he addressed the subject of moving on. The agitation he sensed from Nicholas did not help either, driving home as it did, his lapse.

He cued some music and sat back in his chair. The show was nearly over now and he would soon have to head back and hope that Nicholas had calmed. He was tempted to touch his son's mind and perhaps try to soothe him, but Nicholas would likely feel it and that would not help matters. The music ended.

"So my friends, what occupies your thoughts at the end?"

He flicked a switch, opening one of the call channels. "And who do we have here? Tell us your name."

If a grin could have been audible he would have had to cover his ears.

"Nicholas."

LaCroix froze. The distortion of the phone line did nothing to disguise the familiarity of that voice. He recovered quickly, though still somewhat shaken. "And what do you have to say to us, Nicholas?" His velvet tones caressed the name as his mind worked feverishly to discover his son's purpose.

"Oh, well, I suppose I should say I listen to your show a lot. Very... insightful." There was that grin again. "But I guess the reason I'm calling is to request a song, for... a friend. I know you don't normally do requests, but, well, it's worth a try."

LaCroix regained some of his composure. "I believe that since this _is_ the final show, a request would not be too out of place. Provided you give our generosity a reason." He waited.

"Okay. The song is Sarah McLachlan's 'Sweet Surrender'. I heard it earlier this evening and the lyrics struck me. The more I thought about it, the more perfect they seemed. A friend asked me a question recently, several times in fact, and I wasn't ready to deal with it at the time. Now I am. So I guess the song is sort of my way of saying..." The voice dropped in pitch, becoming a silky purr even through the line distortion. "I'm ready whenever you are... amant."

The line went dead and LaCroix cued the requested song without conscious awareness. Feeling more than a little stunned, he listened.

 

_Sweet surrender  
Is all that I have to give_

 

As the song came to a close LaCroix tentatively reached out to his son. His cold, still heart lurched at the emotion surging through the link, characterised by the peculiar mental grin of his golden child. Suddenly his mood was much improved.

"Well, my children, it seems that I must bid you a fond farewell. Perhaps I shall return one day as you have suggested, but until then you must be patient. After all, there is truth in the old adage: Good things do come to those who wait."

 

FIN


End file.
